"If there's any tape for you it'll be in the back offices in this building. Otherwise, I wouldn't know!" Benny intones to the brothers. "Don't you worry about me getting her out. These treads can roll over just about anything and crush it. And try to keep up!"

Mac makes his way to the offices and among all the ruined pieces of equipment and papers strewn about, he manages to find the tape he requires in order to make the mission as successful as possible. He makes his way back out to the main warehouse area, where Darius, Greeth, and Benny have stationed the vehicles near the monstrous hangar doors. He voxs to his two brothers to keep an eye on the wily servitor, just in case he makes any separate foolish endeavors with that gargantuan driller. Benny salutes over to Mac when he knows that all are ready and pushes into position at the cockpit of the driller. He engages the ignition to the device and puts his metallic hands around the steering unit.

"Hold on to yer hats boys!" he yells before whooping, and pounding on the gas of the vehicle.

It shoots out of the hangar doors with a speed that none could have anticipated, crushing the debris in front of it like an Astartes boot crunching an ork's skull. Darius remains in another area of the driller, while Mac and Greeth follow close behind in the two earth movers. The beasts of machinery rocket forward toward Palantine.

Mac switches gears on the device before speaking into his vox on a private channel. "Fulrik, Sam, moving into position."

Back on the top of the canyon, Fulrik and Sam receive the message loud and clear, still scanning the settlement and hoping that the rest of the team makes it there before the militia crumbles. After a few minutes, Fulrik spots the team, moving into position, a gleeful smile coming to his lips. He hits Sam on the shoulder and points over to the area in front of him. "Looky there, Sammie boy!"

The machines roll over the black sand with ease, passing through the mining area with ease before making it out into the open desert. The settlement sits in front of them, bearing down on them as they roll towards it, ready to inflict the Emperor's Wrath on those filth who have the audacity to even breathe the Emperor's clean air. Before they know it, the team can see the walls of the settlement in the distance. And the long line of green scum that sits before it.

Mac starts praying in his Chapter tongue, his helmet speakers on at a volume just audible over the rumbling of his engine. When he finishes he looks out to determine the distance between the team and the horde.

The three vehicles make a pass by the gathering, thunderous horde. The yells of the orks can be heard all around as the three Astartes and their friendly servitor make their way through the back of the horde, smashing many of the tinier, unluckier orks into oblivion. The screams of the dead and dying replace the warchants and yelling in a matter of seconds as bits of green flesh fly through the air, the saw angling downward, splitting limbs and severing heads. Chaos. Confusion. Panic. All these emotions comes from the lowly ranks at the back of the giant mass.

Stray bullets chink off the armored cockpit of the metallic beast. The Astartes return fire with their bolters and bolt pistols, slaying those who dare to think they can harm the godly warriors. Bolts explode on impact, smashing through the horde and bringing it to its' knees. Benny smiles in his driver's seat, quite enjoying the experience of fighting alongside gods.

After the first pass, the team makes their way towards the canyon. The bigger nobs can be heard ordering everyone after the three vehicles. "GET EM BOYZ!" The insanely long stream of orks halts their progression into the city, all wondering at the chaos happening behind and around them. They move forward with intensity as the 3 vehicles move towards the canyon.

Closing in on it, Mac pushes his earth mover into second gear and extends it alongside the gargantuan movable drill. He locks the steering wheel in place and then launches himself up onto the larger machine. The earth mover stays with them for a time and then pitches and slides to its' side, losing momentum and speed. Mac moves swiftly along the craft, placing explosives near the power core to ensure quite a bright display of fireworks.

The two remaining vehicles make it into the canyon, a trail of orks a minute or so behind them.

Fulrik and Sam watch all of this happen from the safety of the rock cliff above. Fulrik brings himself close to the edge, getting a good sight with Fyrie Wyrm on the entrance to the canyon. Sam hefts his bolter up, ready to blast whatever survives. They knew to wait. They knew to hold. They knew it was about to get sticky.

Samael seems reserved, but to those who know him, the clues are there to hint that this is just a facade that hides his true emotions, the passion he has for the bloody work that he does. He thumbs the fire selector over to load up metal storm rounds and his finger, very obviously itching, hovers over the firing rune.

Benny looks over to the Astartes champion, a look of determination with a slight hint of regret, and was it remorse as well. A flicker of emotion, gone in a flash.

"Ah, and so many things left undone," he says with a pause. "Well, my lord Astartes, if that is your wish, I will gladly help you on this important mission, giving my life in service to the Emperor." He sits back in the cockpit of the monstrosity, leaning his frame against the backseat. He raises his hand and seems like he wishes to say more, but then sits back once again.

"Well, best to steel myself for the coming end at least. Get out of here. I won't lie, this ain't gonna feel good, but at least it's for something, rather than dying out later on."

Benny cranks the machine into idle, looks down at the steering column, a slight smile on his face, knowing that at least he would die for something.

The Ork horde rounds the bend and siphons into the canyon, bellowing loudly and firing off pot shots here and there. None effectively hit anything other than the rock walls of the canyon and the tough armor of the massive movable drill. It is a mixed bag of various orks within the screaming mass that approaches the Astartes. Ork Boyz, Gretchin, Stormboyz, Nobz, Squigs, and others hurry towards their target. In the next few seconds, the horde will be upon the group at the bottom of the canyon. Mac's grenade lands in the middle of the horde, detonating and blasting a good lot of the orks into oblivion. Some writhe around on the ground with missing legs and arms laying close by. Darius continues his bolter fire, connecting with more of the lesser horde.

There is a crackle in the vox. "Steig here!" comes from the transmission amid sounds of gunfire and explosions. "Thank you kindly for the distraction. A little breathing space goes a long way. We'll keep the city protected for the time being, but my lord Astartes, you are still needed here. Reports of a Warboss are coming through from my scouts at the southern entrance and there's no telling when he will be upon us, or if that is even his objective. Time is of the essence my lords. Let's hope we get to fight side by side this day!" he bellows into the vox before screaming a battle cry as the transmission ends.

Samael brings his heavy bolter up and fires down into the canyon, killing orks that get too close to the rest of the team. Each bolter round hits its' mark and detonates, killing orks in a massive display of blood and gore.

After a second or so, Fulrik looks through his site, down to the edge of the canyon. Around the bend, 5 meganobs barrel towards them. He grins and sets his sight on them, waiting for the explosion.

The Wolf of Fenris, redressed in black would reap hell upon this green scourge. Fulrik hated the Orks with a passion - the abominations that they were.

Hearing Steig come through the Vox again brought some relief to the red-haired Long Fang. "Steig," he transmits back to the Guardsman, "redirect your Hellhound to the weakest spot on your perimeter. Warbosses are smart..ish. Chances are he has been hangin' back and watching the show, mate - looking for weak spots."

The Vox crackles once again as Steig's voice permeates the surrounding area. "Sounds like a plan. We will get that sucker over to the eastern inner wall entrance. My boys have been holding tough out there, but seems after the initial attack, most of the orks moved to that side as they dispersed out. You must know your stuff, after all. For me, a good las gun, a knife, and that's all the tactics I need! Sending the Hellhound to their position at once."

Samael's face no longer hides behind a mask of indifference. Instead, he wears a mask of bliss, of boundless joy. Or rather, it seems as though he is finally not wearing a mask and is instead showing his true face. His eyes are alight, as though some secret knowledge of the order of the universe is not only known to him, but is the most simple child's play imaginable. His jaw is set firmly and his smile is a wide grin that periodically breaks into actual laughter. Far from sounding unnatural or maniacal, it sounds like the laughter of a child at play, a being innocent and carefree in its existence. As he pumps round after round after round into the horde, it's apparent to all who see him that Samael is alone in his world. In this moment, he is the only thing that exists, a child knocking over an army of figures in the dirt, a righteous god cleaning the filth of the world from the sole of his boot.

Mac hurls a photon flash grenade into the horde, timed to blow above their heads. As the grenade leaves his fingers he gets on the vox, "I need access to the city's public broadcast system, I need all working speakers in the city broadcasting my voice. We're going to draw the warboss' attention."

The chaos rang thick through the air. Bolter rounds rip through green bodies, ammunition explodes on the corpses of the fallen, shoota fire pings off the armor of the Astartes champions as they did their duty in the service of the Emperor. A flurry of war and blood igniting their keen senses and filling them with thoughts of glory and victory.

Mac takes his photon grenade and hurls it into the rushing horde before pushing the ignition on his jump pack and taking off. The explosives sat on the power core of the gargantuan drill, ready to fill the air with smoke and death in the coming seconds. He switches over to the Vox, yelling into it as he lands atop the canyon, a few meters from his brothers.

Greeth and Darius are quick on the draw as well, realizing that the time is right. They both ignite their jump packs as well, screaming off into the air and landing atop the canyon next to their squad leader.

A second of silence, unnoticeable, permeating.

Mac looks over to his other brothers, one enacting mayhem on the horde, and the other yelling into the vox. He turns back quickly to the cockpit, wishing to see the brave servitor in his final moments, and yet the servitor is absent. Nowhere to be seen.

A bright flash.

The power core detonates with an ear-splitting noise, sending a shock wave up the canyon walls and pushing the space marines backwards slightly. The fireball rises high into the air, incinerating those orks too curios for their own good and lashing out at the others in the rank and file behind them. A glorious site to behold as the xenos scum crumble all around the perimeter of the skulking remains of the drill. Screams can be heard for quite some time after the detonation, a thick cloud of smoke obscuring the view of the space marines on the canyon top. The hunters wait patiently, ready to lash out at any surviving ork in a hail of bullets and chainsword mayhem.

When the smoke clears, hundreds of ork bodies litter the interior of the small canyon, some still twitching, their nerve endings not getting the message of death. The horde is crippled beyond repair, a massive heap of metal, ork skin, and glory. Amid the carnage, some orks begin to stand up fully, shaking their heads from side to side, retrieving their weapons fast, wondering what the hell just happened. Stormboyz bring themselves up, their jetpacks sticking out behind them. One overzealous meganob lays wasted on the side of the canyon wall, a glob of blood and bone all that remains.

The other four begin to stand back up, shaken, but not out of the fight yet. The horde of survivors gathers around, looking up and to their sides, scanning for the potential threats all around them. Some smarter orks place themselves behind the cover of the wreckage, their weapons sticking out haphazardly. This wasn't over by a long shot.

The orks begin to stand up from their various positions on the ground, gathering themselves and their senses together. Clueless, they begin to look around for a reason, a source for this chaos all around them. The massive horde sways, a tidal wave of green orky flesh.

Samael sets his heavy bolter upright, leaning it towards the thickest portion of the green mass. Pressing the firing rune, a smile creeps over his face underneath his helmet. This is what he was born for. This is what he was made for. This is for the Emperor. Samael is in ecstasy. The metal storm rounds fly forth from his death machine in a spray of excited murder. Looking to make as many body parts fly as possible, Sammie continues his execution of the xenos. The rounds tear chunks out of the horde, hundreds of the little ork specimens drowning in their own blood and screaming out as if that would help. If one were to have listened closely, the sound of humming would be heard through his vox, a quiet song that contrasted the chaos all around them.

Mac, ever observant in the face of monstrous enemy forces, focuses on the largest threat to the group. The Stormboyz. He fires off his jump pack, going as far as he possibly can before touching down and bringing his armored fist once more to the rune on the pack. External vox speakers at max volume, the sound of chanting can be heard for all those in earshot.

Greeth grunts, seeing the folly of jumping down into the mass of green. His focus was elsewhere. He sees the danger of the Stormboyz reaching their position before the real shooting starts, but knows that his brother is up to the task. Conflicted, he finally unclips a frag grenade from his belt and hurls it at the green mass below. The explosion rocks the bottoms of the canyon. creating a mass of green graves and sizzling flesh.

Darius, having just landed, somersaults forward, picking himself back up to his feet in a half second, while pulling forth his bolter. He flicks the fire selector switch in a heartbeat, turning quickly, aiming at the closest Meganob, and squeezing the firing rune. A swarm of metal death descends on the Meganob, before he comes to his feet, assaulting him in almost every part of his nasty body. The rounds detonate, sending him into shrieks of agony, illuminating him.

Fulrik eyes the Meganobs and lets his concussion missile fly at the center-most Meganob prick, knowing that this will cause optimal damage with his choice of armament. With a howl, he pulls the trigger. The massive missile flies forward and hits dead center of the group of dazed Meganobs. A monstrous sound echoes forth from the canyon walls, spilling out into the surrounding desert. They could not know, but the soldiers in Palantine could have sworn they heard a massive sound at that exact moment, not realizing what it was. The massive explosion forces all the meganobs to their backsides, sprawling them out once again into various prone positions. One of the nobs seemingly disintegrates in the force of the blast, having already taken massive damage from Darius' holy bolter fire. In a rain of blood, gore and meat, the nob’s arm is removed from his body. Screaming incoherently, he twists about in
agony for a few seconds. The force of the damage makes his arm explode outwards, sending bone fragments and shards of armor into his surrounding comrades. The tiny pieces chink off their armor as the nob falls heavily to the ground, dead before hitting the earth. Some of the surrounding horde flattens to the ground, the massive force squeezing their eyes from their sockets and spilling blood from their mouths. Fulrik gazes over the sight, smirking at the damage caused by his dearly beloved Fyrie Wyrm.

Samael continues to revel in the carnage put forth from his heavy bolter. If she hadn't a name yet, she surely deserved one after this battle. The round fly through the air smashing into the horde, tearing apart the horde piece by tiny piece. The agonizing wails of the dying pierce the canyon walls with deadly purpose. The blood pours into the ground in droves and the Astartes heavy weapon specialist continues to smile with glee.

Mac continues his charge towards the small squad of Stormboyz, leaping into the air with efficient bursts of his jump pack. The smoke trails from behind him, a solid arc in the air, the gaseous fumes felt on the noses of every living thing in range. Chanting through the vox, many orks swing their heads towards him, trying to catch what the hulking death bringer is saying. Mac can see the Stormboyz in the distance, closing the gap quickly. He would be on them momentarily.

Just as Mac lands his full body to the ground, the Stormboyz hit. "WAAAAAAAAGH!" They scream with brutal length before pressing their own triggers and firing off towards the Space Marine. Mac braces himself for the impact, knowing that he was in for a real fight. The first of the xenos scum pushes towards him, but Mac merely steps to the side, the ork machinery brushing past him, touching his armor. The next attacks him, believing the masterful warrior to be off balance. A silly mistake. Mac lithely steps out of the path of the oncoming enemy once again, opening his body forward, ready for the brunt force of the other two. This time he would see what they were made of. He takes the hit full force from the 3rd Stormboyz, its' choppa slicing downward and catching him squarely in the right arm. The blade hits its' mark, tearing into the power armor and cutting deep into Mac's arm. Another scar on a body containing thousands. The 4th Stromboy brings himself forward, raising his choppa high, lashing downward to hit the unsuspecting Space Marine. Instead, the stupid ork's foot catches on a fallen stone and he tumbles to the ground, laying in a heap at Mac's feet.

A moment of silence rings in Greeth's ears, all the blood and carnage building up inside of him, manifesting into a chaotic frenzy that breaches into his very soul. If one were to check, they could feel the heat coming off of his skin and would be burned if they dared touch it. Greeth guns his jump pack and tears off towards the horde at a breakneck pace.

The horde scrambles around, retaining some sort of order despite the turmoil around them. A large contingency of the massive green blob aims towards Sammie, firing off their shootas. The lead pours forth from the hundreds of orks, landing solid hits on Samael's body. The lead doesn't stop. It keeps streaming out of the hot barrels of the squalid ork weaponry, punching with enough force to make Samael fall back a step. He can feel the blood trickle down his chest, a few of the rounds having punctured his armor and skin. The elation turns to anger.

Darius looks out over the battlefield, finding his brother amidst the rabble, fighting tooth and nail with 4 Stormboyz by himself. This display of courage and valor is enough to elevate the adrenaline levels within the Blood Raven's veins. He tears forth from his perch, screaming towards the battle, fully intending to lend a helping hand.

Fulrik watches with glee as the Meganobs fall like a stack of cards. The bigger they are, he thinks. He notices movement out of the corner of his eye and sees sparks from the horde as hundreds of shootaz fire on his Brother. "Sam, get down!" He yells, but it is too late. His Brother-Devastator is hit multiple times. In frustration, he thumbs the selector on his Soundstrike - Incendiary missile.

"Fenryka Vylka!" he screams in a deep Fenrisian accent laced with hatred as the missile fires forth from the end of the Soundstrike. It flushes forward and connects with the massive throng of ork flesh below them, sending a wave of fire all around an immense section of the horde. The smell of crispy, burnt flesh fills the air around the space marines. The agonizing screams intensify.

The last Stormboy makes his way forward, realizing the large advantage they have over the one Space Marine. Jus meybey wez can tek 'em out, he thinks, charging forward into the fray. He slices down with an immense intensity, a fury and hatred in his yelling voice. The choppa connects with the breastplate. The Ork smiles, knowing it was his time. As the delicate weapon makes contact, its' edge chips against the solid ceramite plate. The smile quickly fades.

Samael braces himself from the impact, steadying his weapon from the force of the blasts. He grist his teeth, twisting around once again to face the horde. With a start of indignant fury, Samael pumps more rounds into the horde, swiveling his weapon to be able to hose down specifically that area of orks that was most responsible for having shot him. He broadcasts a message loudly. "I am Samael Laadon of His Majesty's Raptors. You are unclean in His eyes and must be cleansed from this galaxy. Prepare yourself for oblivion." This horde will go down or he will. The .75 caliber rounds fly forth, detonating before impact and splintering off into hundreds of adamantine shards that punch into the horde causing a large portion of the orks to become stains in the sand.

Mac steadies himself from the onslaught of blows, swinging his chainsword quickly from side to side, catching the ork that injured him a second earlier. The chainsword revs and slices into the armor and flesh of the Stormboy, a grunt escaping his mouth, but other than that, he remains visibly intact and ready to dish out more damage to his hated enemy. The first Stormboy lashes out once again, trying to catch his foe off-guard, but Mac steps out of his range, the edge of the blade scraping against his ceramite armor. The second boy attacks him with vigor and would have connected had it not been for Mac's keen senses, which take hold and allow him to parry the weapon to the side as if it were a plaything. The weapons clang together, Mac's chainsword tearing pieces of metal off the crude choppa. Caught slightly off-balance, Mac doesn't see the next two attacks hit him. The first one rails into his body, banging off of it and doing not much else. But this ork wasn't done yet. He immediately swings downwards once again, piercing the armor and creating a gash on Mac's left leg. The blood flows forth down the Astartes' leg, another wound to add to the many already incurred on the wretched planet. The 4th Stormboy rolls to the side, just in time to avoid the chainsword's teeth and brings himself back up. He lashes out, but only manages to chink the Astartes armor, another scratch on the pristine plate.

Greeth rages forward, charging the horde with the fury of a true master of assault. He tears into the bodies, severing limbs and heads with each vicious swing of his blade. Greeth tries to maintain control, but his blood was up. Underneath his helm, his eyes go red, as he tears the flesh of the orks in front of him. "There can be only one!" He shouts through the vox, while headbutting an incoming ork, crushing its' skull and relinquishing it of its' life.

The two Meganobs shake their heads as they make their way back to their feet. Enraged and feeling the bloodlust overcome them, they completely disregard their kin, cursing under their breath at the various failings of the horde. Both look over and see the Flesh Tearer in their sights. Both simultaneously take aim with their twin-linked shootas before pulling the crudely made triggers. The blasts miss Greeth completely, but tear into their own brethren, reducing many of them to fleshy ork messes.

The horde engulfs the Flesh Tearer, hundreds of the orks lashing out at him and missing completely. But his luck runs dry amidst the chaos of fighting an entire horde single handedly. The horde surges forward, connecting multiple hits on the Astartes warrior, piercing into his right arm and drawing blood. They would pay for their indignity.

Darius continues his trek towards Mac, realizing that his brother might just need some help fighting those beefy looking orks. He might be in over his head on this one, Darius thinks to himself, before completely another jump that puts him in charge range of the melee battle.

The flames surround members within the horde, burning their flesh and rendering many of them lifeless husks. Unhappy with the effects of his last missile, Fulrik grunt and flicks the switch on his Soundstrike. Immediately a Frag missile is loaded into the firing tube. Still angry that the green filth had the gall to draw blood from a Battle Brother as mighty as Samael, he aims away from where his last missile struck, intent on causing maximum damage to the most battle-ready opponents.

He smiles savagely and howls to the sky as his missile hits true. Razor sharp adamantine shrapnel flies in every direction and he can't help but savor in the kill, like a wolf looking down at its prey.

"That one was for you, Sammy!"

The final Meganob brings himself to his feet and copies his two comrades, pulling up his shoota in order to shoot from the hip. He smiles and pulls the trigger. Click. "Damn piz a junk!" he yells before throwing the weapon on the ground, ready to make this battle a little more personal.

The last Stormboy lashes out at Mac, fully intending to render the Space Marine lifeless, but strays off course and swings wide, coming up off-balance and falling forward. He catches himself before tumbling to the ground, realizing that it would take much more to bring this foe down.

Samael revels in his handiwork for a few fleeting moments, before realizing the horde would be taken care of easily by his new flesh tearing brother. He watches the masterful display of melee combat, moving his gaze as quickly as his brother can tear limbs from bodies. All the while, his hands move to his bolter, switching the rounds from Metal Storm to normal bolter rounds. The mechanisms go to work within the hulking weapon, swiftly changing the feeds and readying his weapon for the near future.

Mac lashes out at the group around him, hoping to hit the damn Stormboy who dealt him damage. He slashes downward in two quick motions, hoping to catch the head of the Stormboy who just hit him. The razor-sharp blades cut deep through the armor of the ork's leg on both hits and rend deeply through muscle and bone. Blood sprays all over the orks and space marine, the leg opened up, exposing bone, sinew and muscle. The ork cries out in pain, but remains on his feet.

As the scream trails off through the air, one of the stormboyz in front of Mac launches himself forward, swinging his choppa downward and into Mac's ceramite body armor. The ork must have eaten his breakfast, for his crude instrument somehow gets through and cuts the Eagle Knight deep on his chest. Another day, another scar, Mac thinks to himself before readying himself for the next blow. The stormboy swings again, clanging against Mac's left arm, and scarring him on his bicep. The other ork in front assails Mac with two vicious hits that merely scrape his armor and do nothing more. Either Mac was tiring, or these orks were getting better because they seemed to be landing hits more often than not. One of the boyz behind him swings his choppa down twice, causing a harsh impact and splitting some of the armor on the Astartes' right arm. The resounding impact causes Mac to drop his chainsword, the masterful weapon clanging downward into the sand with a solid thud. Mac focuses on the next attack, disregarding the lack of a weapon. He pushes the ork past him, the ork's choppa missing by a mile. Nothing is ever easy, he thinks to himself.

Greeth rages on, continuing his assault against the horde in front of him. The massive phalanx that used to dwarf everything on the field now sat as a smoldering wreckage of metal and flesh, those remaining fighting a hopeless battle. But they fought on. If there's one thing about orks, it's that they're tenacious. The Flesh Tearer slams his chainsword into the orks around him, cutting throats and sawing off limbs. The blood soaks his black armor, glistening in the light of the day.

The remaining small band of the horde gathers together and try to perform one final attack against the Flesh Tearer. Many of the orks miss their mark, but a few connect, only to realize the folly of their efforts as their crude weapons do nothing but clank off the surface of the armor, doing absolutely nothing save for amusing Greeth.

The Meganobs, furious with how the battle is going down, take aim once again at the melee. The first fires off his shoota. A bang and then a solid amount of shrapnel flies through the air towards Greeth. Unfortunately, the orks moving around in front of the space marine only serve as shields for the blast. The remaining orks of the horde die in screaming agony, shot down by their own leaders.

The second Meganob spits blood from his mouth before taking aim at Greeth, grumbling under his breath about how inefficient his comrades have been. Now was his time to shine, except that as he pulls the trigger the shoota jams. Jus me luck, he thinks to himself, sighing.

Darius finally makes it to the party, landing 10m or so from the combat between Mac and the Stormboyz. Not a second after he touches down, he flies forth again, screeching through the air towards his chosen target. In mid-flight, the Blood Raven pulls his power sword cleanly from its' resting place, ready to exterminate. The stupid xenos scum never knew what hit him. Darius swings down in a flash of anger, his sword catching the hulking stormboy in his misshapen head. It tears through the metal helmet like a hot knife through butter, before smashing into the enemies' skull. Surprisingly, the ork remains on his feet, the blow having just missed the opportunity to suck the life force out of the foe.

Fulrik keeps the pressure on the biggest cluster of Meganobs - bemused that they hadn't already learned their lesson. He pushes the selector on the Soundstrike Launcher, switching once again to concussion missiles. The Emperor surely smiled on Fulrik this day, for the missile lands directly into the Meganob's skull, splitting the flesh from bone, the head bursting like an over-ripe fruit, disintegrating the massive xenos' head in a spray of blood and gore.

The concussion from the blast spreads out over the Meganob's surrounding the original target, causing massive damage to each and every one of them. The Meganob standing directly next to the one minus a head falls backward onto his bum once again. Shur seems loike me on me bum a lot, the nob thinks before sinking backward, a spray of blood covering his eyes. The two other Meganobs jerk back from the force of the attack, throwing back their heads and spewing out jets of blood before crumpling, dead before they hit the ground.

Opportunity presents itself as the Orks wither and break under the power of the Concussion missiles. Fulrik made a mental note to thank the Armorers for their steadfast skill in producing and procuring some of the most deadly ordnance he had ever had the privilege of firing in anger. He flicks his thumb, prompting the auto-loader crane built into the Soundstrike to pull forth a Frag Missile and feed it into the firing tube. "Sjaumst," he says into the external vox. The Fenrisian equivalent of "goodbye" in Gothic. The concussive force of the blast shatters the nob’s leg bones and splits apart his flesh, a pool of blood forming underneath him as he screams in agony.

The last stormboy notices the presence of the new marine very quickly, despite his bloodlust and anger. He turns toward the new foe and swings with all his might and fury, but the crude choppa only manages to scrape against the armor of the giant Astartes. Darius turns his head towards the ork in a slow, harrowing motion... zeroing in on his next kill.

Samael listens as the feed finishes its' final action with a solid clicking noise. He scans the area, searching for any threats that might come upon them, knowing that his brothers will take care of the rest of them. He turns back towards the melee combats happening in the distance. Itching to pull the trigger, but knowing that it was a risky game shooting near your own brothers. Especially one that has been wounded sufficiently. He would hold for the time being, waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

Mac voxes to Darius, "Draw their attention, Raven," before pulling away from the fight. In a quick motion, he pulls forth his hand flamer, Tonamaitl, into his left hand, stepping away from the melee combat. In his mind, he hoped the majority of them would stick to the Blood Raven. Fear was never present, but a Space Marine was not stupid either. The Eagle Knight knew a change of tactics was in order. He knew it was time to switch gears.

Not all the Stormboyz were distracted by the incoming Raven. Two of them quickly follow after Mac, charging forward towards him. Mac has no time to react as the first Stormboy connects solidly with his choppa against Mac's body, cutting his deep once again and spilling the blood of the sacred Eagle Knight. The second launches himself a split second after his comrade, yelling at Mac. "Toime ta daiiii!" But Mac sees this one coming and merely sidesteps the oncoming ork. He looks over at Darius, realizing that the Raven has pulled 3 of the Stormboyz from him.

A new melee combat begins as Darius wrenches his Power Sword free from the tangled mess of blood and armor before him. To his left, a choppa slices downward, hoping to catch him in the head, but...clunk. The blade ricochets off the armor with a resounding noise, filling the ears of those around them. The ork yelps out in apparent shock as the blade flies forth from the armor and buries itself in the sand a meter away. Darius laughs loudly at the ork's misfortune, knowing that a higher presence was with him always.

The Stormboy that Darius had brained only a second earlier turns to face him, not knowing it would be his last few seconds in this life. He swings with all his might at the Blood Raven. In a flash the likes of which could only come from an Astartes champion, Darius swings his Power Sword upward full force, connecting solidly with the boorish ork weapon. The power field surrounding his sword shatters the choppa into a million tiny pieces, a sizzling smoke rising from the ashes of the former weapon.

But Darius does not stop his attack.

With a solid sideswipe of his masterful power sword, he sears the ork's ear cleanly off. The flesh bubbles around the new wound as the screams of the wounded animal would be silenced soon. The furthest Stormboy races toward Darius, making solid contact that pushes the space marine forward slightly, but does no real damage. The massive soldier turns slightly in this reckless foe's direction. "So eager to die..."

Greeth, raging hard as ever, moves swiftly towards the downed meganob, wishing to rip the thing's head cleanly off of its' body. He would never get the chance...

Darius, rife with fury at these Stormboyz for damaging his brother, presses the attack once again, slamming his Power Sword down into the exact same spot as before. Only this time, more than an ear would go missing. Superheated by the attack, the ork’s brain explodes, tearing apart his skull and sending flaming chunks of meat flying at everyone around him. The lifeless husk falls to the sand, oozing out pieces of brain matter and blood.

Fulrik deftly slides Fyrie Wyrm over to his shoulder, the di-pol maglock clicking into place succinctly and fluidly. It was like watching a master at work. Not wasting a single movement, the Space Wolf grabs hold of his bolt pistol for a coup de grâce.

"Orks...Orks never Sgu learn. For Helvede!" He lines up the bolt pistol at the Meganob's oversized head. The shot was far for a pistol, but Fulrik had faith in his skill at arms.

From the canyon floor, Greeth watches as a single bolt round flies forth, almost in slow motion. The rippling sound waves interrupt the still air around the round, as it sails for the head of the meganob. Like an overripe melon, the head explodes, showering the surroundings in brain matter and bits of skull.

Samael watches the nob's head explode with a great deal of satisfaction. He turns his attention to the melee combat happening some 100 meters away before lowering his heavy bolter. He wasn't about to take a chance and risk hitting his brothers. Not with the power of this weapon. Surveying the scene with the eyes of a hawk, he waits for a clean shot on one of the Stormboyz. A song comes to his mind as he waits and he hums the tune to himself.

Mac remains engaged in a fierce battle, but knows that the addition of his brother spells doom for their enemies. He raises his hand-flamer and points it directly into the face of one of the stormboyz, but upon pushing the firing rune, nothing happens. Guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way...He fluidly pulls out his combat knife, a glorious gold-handled blade ripe with gemstones, and stabs at the nearest enemy ork. The blade cuts through the air before landing solidly in the cheek of the xenos. The massive ork cries out in pain, reaching for the blade, but Mac pulls back, a gout of hot blood slinging through the air with the blade, the droplets pattering onto the sand below.

A flurry of green flashes forward to react to the blow produced by Mac, but it is for naught. The clumsy ork scum only manages to scrape the creamite of Mac's left leg, a soft clunk amidst the battlefield. The weapon flies forward out of the ork's hands and into the sand. Disarmed, the ork scrambles backward, bracing for the blows to come. Having recent become a bit of a filet, the other boy in front of Mac lashes out once again, but the Eagle Knight was prepared. The adrenaline from the battle was coursing through his veins now and none would hit him. A sidestep later and the befuddled stormboy stumbles past the space marine.

A stormboy engaged with Darius, albeit feeling the blood dripping from his wounds, makes a lunge for the massive Astartes, but fails to connect in any real way, leaving a scratched surface on the Blood Raven's breastplate.

Greeth, having just witnessed the head explosion, turns once again, intending to make a beeline for the melee combat. He juices the jump pack up and presses the ignition, flying forth in a rage-filled fury, itching to dig his chainsword into some ork flesh.

Darius laughs loudly at the Stormboy who dared to attack an Astartes champion. Fueled by his recent execution, Darius assails his target with a flurry of blows to its' legs, the crackling energy from the power sword surrounding the wounded xenos, sizzling the green skin black. After a few seconds, the leg immolates and the ork catches fire, only to roll around screaming for the last few seconds of its' miserable life.

Not missing a beat, Darius lashes out at the only enemy still alive enough, and brave enough, to combat him. A swift movement, a solid slice, and the remaining enemy's eye is gouged out from the socket, falling slowly to the ground, turned black by the power of the sword in the champion's hands.

Fulrik scans the area surrounding them, looking towards Palantine. None of the rest of the ork force has decided to give chase, but the battle in the city still rages. We ought to be there by now...he thinks to himself before turning his attention back to the action.

Darius loses sight of his last opponent, but feels a thick hit to his back. He turns quickly to see the solid look of fear on the face of the Stormboy, the realization that he was now all alone versus one of the Emperor's finest.

The melee battles rage on as Mac attempts another shoot and stab against his hated foes. The Omnissiah must have been sleeping on the job, because now the flamer bursts into action, sending a searing swathe of hot promethium towards the two stormboyz. They have no opportunity to react and thus the fire envelopes them as they press their attack against the Eagle Knight. The flames flow all around him, and Mac stands up straight, hoping the flamer had done the trick. He can hear one of the orks screaming in agony, but quickly notices that only ONE is screaming. Before he has time to react, one of the monstrous boyz swings through the flames, anger hot in his eyes. "WAAAAAAAAAGGGH!" The dangerous noise echoes out and the choppa comes crashing down on the space marine's left arm. A normal human would have screamed in pain, vomited all over the ground, and been stunned into a searing, painful agony. But not a Space Marine. Mac merely drops his weapon to the ground, realizing in his mind that the limb was now useless. "Greeth, your presence is sorely missed at the moment," he speaks quickly into the vox, deflecting the other blows from his enemy.

Greeth streams through the air, landing approximately 8 meters from the combat, fully intending to assail the xenos threat in the coming seconds.

Darius and the remaining stormboy exchange blows with one another, but neither can get the better of the other. Their melee continues as well.

Despite the grievous wound to his arm, Mac makes another attempt to set the other Stormboy ablaze. He fires a solid stream of promethium fire towards the bloodthirsty orks, a wall of flames extending out towards both of them. The one already yelling in terror cries out with another intense scream as his flesh sears and skin melts. The other moves his body to the side, catching the brunt of the blast in his right arm, but once again moving out of the way of the flames. He remains standing, and very, very pissed off.

He lunges at Mac with a full force attack, hoping that all the damage done to the space marine would finally come calling and end him. His attack goes wide, as Mac deflects it with his gauntlet, the Eagle Knight remaining strong in the face of adversity.

Greeth sets his sights on the Stormboy closest to him, and just his luck. The scum is on fire already. A maniacal grin comes to the Flesh Tearer's face before launching forward and catching the foul beast with a solid, meaty blow to his right leg, ork blood pumping from the fresh wound.

Darius finally lands a solid strike after a few exchanges with the other Stormboy. The Power Sword glows, crackling with electricity as it comes down full force into the left arm of the ork. The attack smashes the arm, sending currents of energy crackling down to the fingers and up to the shoulder. The ork yelps out in apparent discomfort, cursing under his breath at his misfortune. The arm would be useless for the time being. In a desperate lunge, the ork catches Darius off-guard, a smile on his toothy face. The choppa swings towards the space marine's head, ready to rend some flesh. But Darius was no fool. Moving with the lighting quickness of an Astartes, he swings his body into position and takes the strike on his breastplate, feeling nothing at all.

Mac bursts backward, narrowly escaping the swinging choppa of his previous enemy. In the same moment he pushes off, he takes aim with his hand flamer in the direction of the Stormboy, igniting the firing rune and sending that sweet, hot liquid fire at it. This time, he better catch...Mac thinks to himself, landing a good distance away from his pursuer.

This time the ork has no opportunity to avoid the flames. They ignite all around him and set him ablaze. Shaking off this terrible effect, the ork charges towards Mac with a fury and intensity akin to his kind. The flames must have still had some power over him though, because he slips and loses his footing, crashing into the ceramite armor, but doing no damage whatsoever.

Greeth, enjoying his combat a little too much, loses focus and the ork attacking him breaks through with a vicious swipe to his right arm, knicking through the ceramite and causes a wound to form on Greeth's upper bicep. Greeth laughs maniacally at his new foe's misfortune of being on fire. Though if its real or not, I cant really tell. He presses the advance, but the ork was up for it, deflecting the blows and saving himself for the time being.

Darius was growing tired of the combat with the Stormboy. In one fluid motion, his power sword tears into the left leg of his foe. The force of the attack reduces the leg to little more than a chunk of sizzling gristle and the ork, who has a momentary look of shock on his face, crumbles to the ground, dead.

Mac steadies himself from the falling ork, pushing back with his chest to set the ork upright, positioning his enemy for the coming attack. Knowing he had expended all of his canisters of ammunition in the hand flamer, he chunks the weapon to the sand with a solid clunking noise. Back to the real fun...With his remaining useful arm, Mac picks his spot. The right eye seemed right.

With a forceful downward motion, Mac gouges the eye of the hulking ork with his thumb, pushing down hard and feeling brain beneath the eye. He pushes with all his might, a mighty scream drowning out the sounds around him. Blood, pus, and bone fragments chip off and slide down the gauntlet of the Emperor's warrior. A satisfying feeling despite the wounds he feels.

The impact of the gauntlet blurs the vision of the ork and he sees stars floating all around him. Well datz odd, now ain't it? Da sun and da stars be out at da same toime.Quickly, the ork swings his massive arm out in a panicked movement, batting away the heavily armored gauntlet of the Astartes with a strength that only comes from the fight to survive. He assails the Eagle Knight, hoping against hope to defeat his foe. But the thumb gouging had done its' job. With weakened senses, the orks blows go well wide of their intended target. The last thing he would ever do.

Greeth savagely lashes out at his foe, striking a resounding blow to its' crude body armor. The chainsword revs and moans, rending through the armor and cutting deep into the flesh, chunks of meat and gristle fly outwards as the Flesh Render lives up to his name.

Darius, having just dispatched his counterpart, turns in the direction of Mac, seeing his brother in a worrying state. Hold on, brother. Your courage and valor will not be for naught. With solid footing, he guns his jump pack, masterfully aiming it in exactly the right way to reach the target, without over-shooting it. His mighty Power Sword in a triumphant arc, Darius picks an all-too familiar place to damage the ork. The crackling energy infused blade hits its' mark, sending out a powerful shockwave. The Stormboy's brain explodes outward from his skull, blackened chunks sail through the air in all directions, pattering the armor of the two Astartes. Instead of slumping to the ground, the body takes off, barreling to the southwest in a hurried attempt to remain alive. The proverbial chicken with its' head cut off. Even with all the war and strife in the galaxy, there was apparently still room for humor in the cosmos.

Mac, brain matter and bone sliding off of his breastplate from the previous exploded head, goes to pick up his hand-flamer and begins reloading it. "Thank you, Raven," he voxes to Darius, before finishing up the reload and turning his attention towards the final victim. He can feel the wounds on his body, the blood eking out of them and down his limbs. Something told him that he might not be able to stick around on Octavian much longer.

The flames dissipate from the body of the Stormboy as he returns himself to his senses. Lashing out viciously, his choppa slams into Greeth's breastplate, shattering some of the ceramite with its' solid force, but doing nothing else. Greeth, still laughing maniacally for all to hear, continues his assault against his chosen stormboy unperturbed. With a stinging sideswipe, Greeth catches the brute in the ribs, a torrent of blood spills from the deep cuts, making the ground slick with gore all around him. Just like I like it...

In a flash, Darius screams over to the other combat, leaving the Eagle Knight to his own devices. A normal man without the ability to keep up with the movement would have seen what looked like a lightning bolt in Darius' hands. A normal man would have been awed into a sublime silence by the beauty of the Blood Raven's intimate prowess on the battlefield. Darius swings his mighty power sword for the final time against this wretched band of orks. The blade pushes the air around it, longing to scorch the flesh of its' foe. As the blade connects with the fury of an Astartes warrior, the stormboy is completely encased in fire, his skin melting and his eyes popping like superheated eggs. He falls to the ground a blackened corpse.

Darius brings himself to full height, having finished off the last of their foes. He slings the blood from his blade, as it cracks with energy. Now that's how it's done...

Fulrik keeps his eyes on Palantine, noting Ork movements and scanning for signs of leadership units. He swelled with pride at the precision of their ambush. That was what Long Fangs lived for - the hunt before the inevitable killing blow. Swift and ultraviolent. In his younger days, the Space Wolf would have relished to be beside Greeth, chainsword in hand, jump pack pushing him through the air. But those days were long past. Leave it for the pups, he thought. His might now lay in discipline and precise fire support.

And what a sight it was to behold. The piles of Ork remains were stacked upon one another, shredded and broken. They had been lured into the Eagle Knight, the Blood Raven and the Flesh Tearer's collective "anvil," but Fulrik and Samael had been the All-Father's "hammer" that ensured none of their quarry lived.

"Sam," voxed Fulrik over the squad-to-squad internal mic. "Get me eyes on this horde; lookin' for their pack leader. I've got nothin', but perhaps the eyes of a Raptor are even keener than those of a Wolf." He wore his tell-tale grin, fangs shining in the mid day sun.

"Right arm is useless until we get off-planet, Brother Hawk. I look like a demon in armor of scab, so do whatever you can with me once you'd given Darius an examination." Switching the vox over to the Devastators, "Excellently executed, Itzatetequillin would be proud."

Retrieving his chainsword and reholstering it, he scans the landscape between the canyone and Palantine. "I want vox-comm with the defenders, and I want my voice broadcast from every still-functioning speaker in the city. It's time to put a fire in their bellies."

"Excellence in service to the All-Father is what I get paid for," growled back Fulrik, his harsh Fenrisian accent placing too much stress on the 'R's and hard 'C's of the High Gothic.

"We have no eyes on the Warboss. The horde has thinned but there is still plenty of fightin' taking place in the settlement. We need to move. We have dabbled to long already, 'Kiwi." He smiled when he used the shortened version of the Eagle Knight's name, knowing it would grate on his nerves some.

Fulrik spits off the side of the canyon. Commandeering Imperial Vessels was one thing, but Ork vehicles? He would do it if he had to, but he figured the damnable things would fall apart under his might.

"No. We use our feet. We should be quick about it."

He turns back to the Raptor who has been mostly silent up to this point.

"Sammy, we are moving." He checks his gear quickly and begins to make his way down the cliff.

The team converges at the entrance to the canyon, ork blood and gore surrounding them as they move forward, each step crunching bone underfoot. The medical help had taken a good 10 minutes, 10 minutes they didn't have. It doesn't take long to make the trek to Palantine and before they know it, it sits before them. The city of Palantine stretched out and would have been a magnificent sight, had it not been under siege only moments past, buildings aflame or broken completely down. The fighting seemingly continued in various portions of the outer city, but the main siege had lost its' strength and the resistance of imperial militia held their ground.

The marines make their way to the Southern entrance on the outer walls, but halt before making their way inside. All of them can see the rows of buildings, many of them hablocks for various families and a few storefronts battered and broken, but no sign of any orks. Fighting could definitely be heard, but only with that sense. And it seemed to come from various directions.

Fulrik tries the Vox in Low Gothic on the same channel he had used previously to speak to the commander of Palantine's defense. He was not the squad's Master of the Vox, but he figured his report with the man might be of use since the Eagle Knight proved to be... unique... in his mannerisms and approach.

"Aye," agrees the Raptor. Samael removes his helmet and follows Fulrik. His expression looks like a cross between someone who is exhausted and someone who is sexually satisfied, with a little bit of grumpy thrown in for good measure.

"Denying this city a death at the hands of the Ork is directly helping our cause, Blood-Priest. More dead green means more chance the Inquisitor lives." Fulrik blames his Brother's oversight on his coming down from a blood-frenzy. He had seen Greeth in such a mental state before, and it was not a time of joy for his enemies; however, he never was quite in the right state of mind afterward. If breaking protocol to speak before the squad leader bothered Fulrik, he showed no sign of it.

"Commander, the only thanks needed should be in the form of your men holding faith in the All-Father and laying waste to the Greenskins as they try to sully what is humanity's." He liked Steig as much as he could find it in himself to 'like' somebody. He had showed courage in the face of insurmountable odds and had not broken. With limited resources and a fastly dwindling situation, he had done his absolute best to keep his finger on the trigger and a curse on his lips - something a Fenrisian could relate to.

Mac growls over the squad vox, "The wolf is correct. The Lord of Man has sent us here for a reason. We will find our Inquisitor, but we cannot reach them until the green menace is crushed enough that the populace can hunt for itself. Once that is done, they will prove their worth to the Emperor, and if they are found lacking, they will fall in ignominy."

He awaited the click that would signal the activation of the broadcast system.

Steig comes over the vox comms once more. " I'll have that up and running for you in no time, my lords. Give me a few moments as I contact our comms specialists...," he trails off for a an indiscernible amount of time. The squad of Astartes wait outside the walls of Palantine, ork bodies and weapons lay around them in a splendor of death and destruction. This militia was far better than most.

A soft click sounds over the vox unit in each of the Space Marine's helmets. "There you go! Now back to my second favorite thing in the world!" Steig states before blasting away with his las gun at more approaching ork scum.

“People of Palantine, hear me.” Macquilli Quiahuitl’s voice rolls through the city.
In a low murmur, “A plague of pigs has fallen upon your world. They have uprooted your crops. They have burned your homes.” His voice picked up, “They have murdered your children. They have ripped the riches from your necks and ears, and smeared your temples with their excrement.”
His voice turns dark, “And what did you do? You hid behind walls, and when those broke you cowered in your homes as they fell all about you, boars running through your streets, devouring your families and defecating on their bones!”
He hissed, like an intimate whisper, “You covered yourselves in rubble, in gutter and alley you whimpered. You called for the Emperor, ‘Where are you, Lord?’ ‘How did you allow this to happen, God?’ And the Emperor, he heard your cries.”
His voice turned to the rumble of distant thunder, “From His garden in the heavens, the Lord of Man looked down on the people of Palantine, onto the world He granted them in his infinite grace. He saw the swine swarming about your streets and trampling your homes into the dust.”
“As in the ancient days,” his voice picked up pace, “He heard the cries of humanity and took pity. He reached down from His divine throne at the apex of creation and struck the green pigs, making His will manifest.”
A conspiratorial whisper, “Did you not feel it? Did you not hear it? Have the swine not rushed out of the city like the receding tide? The Emperor has graced you, offered you a second chance to rule over His gift to your forefathers. He has offered you a second chance at a better future for your sons and daughters, and their children after them! Will you squander this opportunity and be found wanting? Will you make a fool of the Lord of Hosts for extending His grace?”
“No!” the Eagle Knight roars. “You will honor your God and the faith He has invested in you! You will do no less than honor Him and praise Him!”
He shifts to a snarl, “Kill the swine. Drive them from your streets. Hunt them down and exterminate them! Slaughter them and burn them, for they are less than animals. They sought to trespass into the light of the kingdom of the Emperor. Send them back into the night! Blot out the sun with the smoke of their fat. Rack their skulls atop your temples. Stew their bones and sup the marrow. Scatter their ashes across the fields that future generations will be nourished by the retribution of their transgression. Let all the cosmos know that when the green pigs set foot upon your shores they were bled dry and the breath was sucked from their lungs. Let the Master of Creation look upon your people and be pleased by the beauty you have made from what before offended His sight. Ave Imperator! Sing your praises, Palantine! Ave Imperator!"

He waits for a reaction from the city as he grasps his armored collar and fidgets with the Vox. Privately he opens a channel to Steig and begins to talk. When he is finished he looks back to Mac, "We should hunt." He non-chalantly points the business end of his Soundstrike to the Southern gates of Palantine.

As he waits for a reply, the large Long Fang begins rounding up unspent las charge packs and grenades lying about on the ground or on corpses. "The city's defenses will need resupply if they are to hold long enough for us to complete our mission. Everyone, grab what you can. We will be that resupply." He loads up what he can onto his web-gear and belt, motioning for the others to do the same. "Waste not, want not."

Fulrik moves out with the group. Having relinquished his position as squad leader once the two teams converged again, he was glad to be back in a support position. Leading was fun, but only when he had his Devastator Brother Samael to boss around. With the others back, it lost some of its charm.

He took position in the middle of the group's staggered positions. They knew that to clump together was to provide an all too good target for the enemy and that staggering was the best way to break up concentrations of fire. From the middle, Fulrik could launch ordnance to any position on the group's metaphorical "clock." As they move through the rubble-strewn streets, Fulrik keeps his eyes, ears and nostrils open to any signs of a living enemy, ambush or otherwise.

The desolation around the group is permeable. Rubble strewn about, bits of metal and ordnance littering the ground. Blood flows down into the gutters, a few stray dogs having their fill. A gust of wind picks up and the squad can smell burnt flesh mixed in with the gritty air all around them. Astartes boots smash down on ork skulls as the five warriors roam the street in a solid line, fanned out and ready for anything. All about them, bodies of fallen militia and ork alike litter the rubble-strewn path. Citizens of the great city of Palantine can be seen mixed in, casualties of this massive assault. The group fans out further and makes their way towards the Southern entrance to the inner city, tracking the signal of Steig's vox and the noise of gunfire.

After a few seconds, Fulrik pulls up short, his ears twitching as he sniffs the air for a good long moment. He pulls his hand up and everyone stops in a heartbeat, knowing the Space Wolves were superior in their senses to any other chapter. Fulrik peers forward, searching for the cause of the foul smell. And he catches sight of it.

Gretchin snipuh teams move forward on the rooftops, oblivious to the Astartes, not 50 meters away, a clear line of sight on all of them. Like shooting fish in a barrel. On each side of the boulevard, a team of 5 snipuhz makes their way over the rooftops, in the general direction of the fighting, but oblivious to their new enemies.

Over the squad vox, "Darius, what is our current position on the cartograph? Calculate the Ork's position from us, and I'll relay that to the defenders. We may be able to take them out without firing a shot ourselves."

Over the vox to Steig, "Guard, do you still have any working artillery?"

"No time," Fulrik growls over the squad vox. He was dismayed that the Flesh-Tearer would be so quick to let the enemy go.

"Ammunition or not, if they engage Steig we could lose our only lead on finding our target. I will fight with my bare hands if necessary but the mission comes first."

Fulrik lines up his Soundstrike on the largest cluster of Gretchin; the five to the right would do just fine. Fulrik has not pulled the trigger yet, but it is obvious that he is itching to do just that, orders or no.